


Please Don't Take It So Bad

by Belladonna_Baby



Category: Guns N' Roses, Hard Rock RPF, Music RPF
Genre: Betrayal, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Leaving, M/M, Past Drug Addiction, Rage, Reconciliation, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-17 15:52:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13662252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belladonna_Baby/pseuds/Belladonna_Baby
Summary: “Duff bought me a ticket… said everyone had to get their act together… including me… guess he’s hoping we’ll ‘kiss and make up,'” Axl shakes his head, copper hair jostling about,” Dumb fuck, n’t he…”





	1. Don't Cry

**Author's Note:**

> Man I don't know what this is. Don't Cry came on the radio, I thought of the "Where's Izzy" sign and this happened.

 

_“ Give me a whisper_

_And give me a sigh_

_Give me a kiss before you_

_Tell me goodbye_

_Don't you take it so hard now_

_And please don't take it so bad_

_I'll still be thinkin' of you_

_And the times we had...baby ”_

 

His fingers felt numb as they wrapped around the phone and clutched. Stephanie's voice was far away. Warm hands cupped his jaw, tugged his chin up to catch his gaze. But he couldn’t see her past the flood. Couldn’t feel her through the ache coiling in his chest as she pressed him close, tried to cradle the hurt away.

His best friend of fifteen years was gone.

 

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

 

Axl doesn’t bother to call the ravanette. The betrayal licks his insides, scorches him from the inside out. It crawls up his throat and burns anyone too close.

Stephanie leaves soon after- calls him crazy, packs her prada suitcase and scrams for the first flight out of his life.

He fills every absence with more beer, more mindless sex. Duff’s cerulean eyes often find his,  the ginger can see the concern lining his bloated face. Axl squirms underneath it, leaves with a mumbled “ _Piss off_ ”.  

But it’s Duff who drives him to the airport.

 

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

 

The Indiana rain is soaking his shirt through, making his boots squeak as they fall heavy on wooden steps. It feels like a dream, nighttime blues fill him up and make him hazy. His slender fingers trail along the banister until he’s standing on the large veranda. Golden light dapples along his boots and shins, coming through the lace curtain hung inside the window of the front door. His eyes trail along the chipped eggshell white paint. Axl remembers the paint being fresh and unweathered in his childhood. It makes him think of how much time stands between Bill Bailey and Axl Rose. How much of him has chipped away from a once clean surface.

His heart is fluttering from nerves. Part of the redhead wishes he had headed to the bar before coming here, washed down some of the anxiety making his hands tremble now.

 

He swallows, licks his cracked lips and knocks.

No sound comes from within the house as first.

But then he hears a shuffle not far off.

When the door his tugged open he forgets how to breathe.

 

Izzy is standing there barefoot in black sweats. His hazel eyes widen. His mouth opens to say something but nothing escapes. Usually it takes a lot to surprise him, but it seems Axl has prevailed just this once.

During the plane ride, Axl had imagined this moment. Had pictured Izzy opening the door. Imagined the sickening wet crack of Izzy’s nose against his rings. He had wanted to hurt him. Part of him still does. But looking at Izzy now, he looks soft. His hair still stick up at odd ends, but it’s brushed and clean. His face is flushed from the warmth inside and there’s color to his cheeks that Axl hasn’t seen since they were kids. Axl can tell he’s put on some weight, he’s still gangly though, always has been. Going home had done him good, healed up the bruises, gashes, and track marks from life on the road.

 

Axl doesn’t know why but the rage comes out tender.

“Hey…” He whispers, soft.

 

The ravenette blinks trying to figure out if he’s an apparition, a phantom a too sober mind  conjured up or something equally ridiculous.

“Hi…” Izzy doesn’t know what’s happening but his vocal chords still seem in tact.

 

Axl shifts from foot to foot, quirks the right side of his mouth and inclines his head in question.

Izzy doesn’t know what he’s asking though. It’s not until the redhead takes a step closer into his space and moves to shoulder past him does he understand. He hesitantly lets Axl pass through the doorway.

Izzy watches Axl’s broad back as he makes his way to the kitchen with ease. He feels off balance, thrown by the man’s arrival. He leans against the  counter opposite Axl. The red head meanders around the kitchen looking at how things have changed in the space, how they haven’t.

 

“What are you doing here.” Izzy’s thankful his voice doesn't waver, but it comes out low.

 

He isn’t sure the other’s even heard him, Axl continues examining the china and lace lining the shelves. The red head stops at the fridge to Izzy’s right. He watches Axl’s eyes graze over the pictures held up by 50s style magnets. Izzy’s throat tightens as the other’s eyes land heavy on a photo placed at the center of the freezer. It’s of them when they were fifteen. Izzy closes his eyes and can see the picture clearly, as if he’s the one staring at it. The photo is of Izzy smirking into the flash, his bare arm swung over Bill Bailey’s shoulder. The scrawny copperhead in the photo is smiling subtly, flushed with youth and staring at the boy next to him. His fond expression makes his eyes soft.  

 

When Izzy opens his eyes, Bill Bailey is gone. But Axl is there, close and staring into him. His breath is fanning Izzy’s face, surprisingly absent of liquor. His mouth is pressed in a firm line. Izzy doesn’t draw to his full height, stays balanced against the counter, making Axl loom a bit over him. The green sea boring into Izzy threatens to drown him. The ravenette can’t find his breath, he feels trapped. Izzy is about to press a firm hand against Axl’s chest to make him back up. But the redhead's gaze falls away, flutters down Izzy’s neck to his chest. He feels a slight tug at the bottom of his shirt and is surprised to see Axl’s ringed fingers pinching the fabric and tugging gently.

 

“This is mine.” The words brush against the side of his cheek as he continues to stare at Axl’s pale fingers.

 

The words don’t settle in Izzy’s brain fast enough,”What?” He gasps finally.

 

“This shirt is mine.” Axl’s voice is ruff and low, strained.

 

Izzy looks down at what he’s wearing and sees the _Ritual de lo Habitual_ album cover across his chest. Axl’s not wrong, the shirt is his. Warmth spreads across his cheeks, the bridge of his nose. He hums a response.

 

“Looks good on you…” he takes a step back and then another. Izzy begins breathing again as the space widens. Axl leans against the opposite counter, his shoulders sag and he sighs heavily.

 

“Ax…?”

 

“Duff bought me a ticket… said everyone had to get their act together… including me… guess he’s hopin' we’ll ‘kiss and make up’,” Axl shakes his head, copper hair jostling about. He pulls a cigarette from inside his coat,” Dumb fuck, n’t he…” Axl mumbles the last part to himself. He lights the cigarette, exhales the smoke. Green eyes watch the smoke swirl and dissipate.

 

“Coulda said no…”

 

Axl fixes him with a stern look, squares his jaw and takes another drag. Izzy fights the urge to cross his arms over his chest or fidget with his fingers.  

 

Axl’s eyes fall away again and land on the porcelain tile.

“Was kinda hopin’ he’d be right…”

 

Izzy is unsure he heard him correctly. Was Axl really here to see if he’d come back to the band? It's been months since his departure, surely he didn’t think there was still a chance in hell he’d return.

 

“I’m not coming back.”

 

Axl’s brows scrunch together. He closes his eyes as if the conversation pains him.

“I know that, Izz. M’not asking you to come back.”

 

“... Then why are you _here_? Why are you in my mother’s kitchen? Out of nowhere? Why are-”

 

“I couldn’t just leave it.”

 

“Leave what?” Jesus, Axl had a way of beating around the bush.

 

Axl takes another deep drag before answering.

“Us. I couldn’t leave us how we ended.”

 

“Why?”

 

Axl looks up then. There’s heat in his eyes, kindling with verdant fire. He stubs his cigarette out against a dirtied china plate near the sink. Axl heaves himself up off the counter and makes his way towards Izzy again. The ravanette tries not to flinch as the other draws closer, closer until their breathing the same air.  

 

“ _Why_ ? Because you just dropped off the fucking face of the planet. Because you up and left without telling anyone shit. I had to find out from the fucking manager my best friend was leaving the band we made _together_. And you were half way across the country before I could do anything. Halfway to this bullshit town I thought we left behind.”

 

But here they are… in this bullshit town again. Izzy doesn’t quite know what to say. At the time leaving felt justified. He didn't care how he did it either, he just needed to be gone. He was pissed at Axl for cutting his profit in the contract, pissed at the drugs and the whores, pissed at himself for turning into a deadbeat junkie. So he left, saved himself from being buried six feet under.

 

But below Axl’s simmering rage Izzy could see the heart of it… pain.

 

Before he can process his actions, he reaches for Axl’s broad shoulders, presses them chest to chest. He buries his head in the crook of Axl neck, waits for the other to shove him away. After a few seconds, he feels the red head sag against him, pressing his back into the counter. But Izzy doesn’t feel the pain. Lean arms encircle his back, press him closer. Axl’s sharp nose skims along Izzy’s jaw making him shiver. He buries his face into Izzy’s shoulder, breaths him in.

 

“I miss you…”

and

“I’m sorry.”  

Are muffled into shirt collars.

 

Rage bleeds from Axl’s tired limbs, ashes falling around Izzy’s toes.

 

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

 


	2. Patience

“ I been walkin' the streets at night

Just tryin' to get it right

Hard to see with so many around

You know I don't like

Being stuck in the crowd

And the streets don't change

But maybe the name

I ain't got time for the game

'Cause I need you ”

 

         Izzy is bending over to pick up a spoon he just dropped. Axl watches the delicate curve of his spine as his shirt rides up slightly. He looks away as an uncomfortable, prickly feeling crawls down his neck. There’s a tug in his gut that only comes about once in a blue moon… around Izzy in particular.

Axl notices the other tipping three large spoonfuls of sugar into a steaming mug. He doesn’t comment on it though, reluctant to break the serenity that’s begun to settle about them.

Izzy never ate much, but damn did he have a sweet tooth.

 

The couch in the living room is the same one Axl used to fall asleep on when he came over to Izzy’s to hang and lost track of time. He trails his index finger along the armrest of the tibetan patterned couch before he sits. Izzy rests his elbow on the back of it, jaw cupped in one hand.

 

“Miss it here…” Axl whispers mostly to himself.

 

“Yea?” Izzy sounds surprised,” Thought you’d miss nothin’ ‘bout sweet home Indiana.”

 

“...isn’t Indiana in here...”

 

Izzy doesn’t say anything just drinks his tea and stares at Axl over the rim. The red head doesn’t meet his eye, he looks around the room instead, taking it all in. The red curtains, the mahogany coffee table across the couch, the bells and plants in every corner. Izzy’s mom sure knew how to make a place feel magical, the warm effect it had on Axl hasn't changed.  

 

“How long?”

 

“How long what?” Axl’s eyes are pulled away from the decor by Izzy’s soft voice.

 

“How long are you gonna be in this ‘bullshit town.’”

 

“... three days.”

 

Izzy laughs a breathy sound, shakes his head. Axl pauses. He watches the easy pull of lips reveal Izzy’s sharp, little canines.

“How in the hell did Duff manage that?”

 

Axl blinks a few times, running the other’s words in his head again. He snorts at the question, remembering just _how_ Duff had managed that…

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

_Axl doesn’t budge to get out. Swarms of people with floral and silver suitcases pass the parked car. Duff waits. The redhead clutches the ticket in one hand but doesn’t look down at it. The blonde clicks his tongue and turns the knob of the radio with his index finger._

 

“ If I can't have you right now

I'll wait, dear

Sometimes I get so tense

But I can't speed up the time

But you know, love

There's one more thing to consider”

 

_The song floats from the speakers with ease; Duff tries to suppress a smile. Axl rolls his eyes and looks over at his friend just in time to catch his toothy grin; he smiles in return. Axl’s eyes finally drift down to his clenched hand. He traces the letters printed on the crumpled ticket with his fingertip, lips pressed together in thought._

 

 _“Man… you may not wanna hear this but… every time you get up on stage to sing this or_ Don’t Cry _… I know it’s not Stephanie you’re thinkin about.”_

 

_Duff’s words make Axl turn away towards the passenger window. He feels a flush crawl up his neck. Fuck, had he been so obvious that even his bassist who’s drunk off his ass most of the time noticed? Jesus, that’s embarrassing._

_“You have three days to make it right. Get out of the car, Ax.”_

 

_Axl closes his eyes and sighs deeply._

 

_Duff’s face breaks into a jubilant grin when the passenger side door is slammed in his face._

 

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

 

“ He… has his ways.”

 

Izzy rolls his eyes at the vague explanation but doesn’t persist the topic.

 

“Caught your performance on Mtv the other night…” He says instead.

 

Axl’s head jerks up.

“Yea? And?”

Izzy chews his bottom lip, contemplating a response.

He shrugs finally, a light raise in his bony shoulders before they drop.

“Was good… Your guitarist, he’s good...”

 

Axl’s mouth tastes bitter, he can’t help but scoff. Briefly tamed rage now kindling.

“Yea he’s damn good but wanna know what he _isn't_? You, Izzy. He’s not _you_.”

The snarl breaks off at the end, his voice breaks.

 

Axl looks Izzy square in the face as he spits the words out, he’s proud his gaze doesn’t waver. The ravantte is looking into his tea. The line of his shoulders, the joints in his fingers grasping the mug are taught with tension.

 

Izzy knows he made a mistake by bringing up the band, he shouldn’t have.

“I- I know how I left things wasn’t… wasn’t right. But they happened man. And I ain’t goin’ back. I can’t.”

 

“What about me?” _Would you come back to me._

 

“What about you?”

 

“Who am I to you.”

 

Izzy immediately wants to say Bill. He’s Bill Bailey to him. But he knows this would another misstep. Bill is dead, Axl buried him long ago under Indiana soils before he hitchhiked out to LA.  

 

“You’re my best friend.” he settles for.

 

“Am I?”

 

Izzy shrugs again,” Do you wanna be?”

 

Axl presses his lips in a firm line. Fucking Izzy always passing the ball into his court. Couldn’t he just give a solid fucking answer?

 

“I don’t know. You gonna be a friend I can rely on? ‘Cause last time I trusted you, you left me. You always fucking leave. What’s up with that Stradlin? Can’t you just stick around? And don’t give me that gypsy shit! If you cared, you would have stayed.”

 

Izzy feels annoyance ripple down his spine. Why does he have to explain himself? Why can’t Axl get over it and just move the fuck on. It happened. It’s done with.

 

“I left the band to save my own ass. If ida’ stayed, you’d be attending my fucking funeral. Is that what you want Ax? You fine with killing me as long as I’m with you? You selfish fucking prick.”

Izzy puts his mug on the mahogany table and stands up from the couch. He’s about to turn and head towards the front door to let the redhead out, but he turns back around and leans down into Axl’s angry flushed face.

 

“I don’t regret it.” The hiss tickles Axl’s lips.

 

Izzy catches a glimpse of green eyes widening before he turns, heading for the front door.

 

“Tell Duff to get you the next flight out.”

 

The mention of the bassist makes Axl pause.

This isn’t the way it was supposed to go. Not how he knows it should be. Sure, there’s deep seated resentment stored away in between the notches of his spine, under his tongue. But he remembers being back in LA. At the end of the shows, at the after parties there was usually some hooker to his left occupying a space that wasn’t there's. Duff was right, he wasn’t thinking of Stephanie during those songs, she couldn't have been farther from his mind. He can’t go back, not without stitching up some of this wound. Make the gap between him and Izzy a little smaller.

Fuck.

He has to salvage something from the fire he started.

 

Izzy stands with his hand clenching the side of the door. He’s staring daggers Axl’s way, Axl can feel them stab up his back. The redhead stands up from the couch and slowly makes his way towards the door. There’s hesitancy in his steps. Maybe he _should_ just go. Maybe Duff had it wrong and they _couldn’t_ work this out. These thoughts swim across his mind as he nears the exit. Izzy’s stance doesn’t change. As Axl gets closer, he can see the slight tremble of Izzy’s body, can’t really tell if it’s from anger or anxiety. Probably both.

 

Fuck why couldn't they just have an easy conversation?

Why did it have to end with Izzy kicking him out?

Axl feels a bit nauseous, realises he doesn’t want to leave just yet.

 

They’re face to face now. A cool breeze slithers between them from the open door. Axl looks at the ravantte. Really looks. He watches the tick in Izzy’s jaw from his teeth being clenched too tight. The smattering of freckles along his nose stand out against his pale face. His soft hair is disheveled from tracking stressed hands through it. Axl can see the glint in Izzy’s hazel eyes, a sign he’s on the brink. The brink of what he couldn’t say. Sober Izzy’s irritability tolerance has lowered significantly. He stares at the angry set of his mouth. His lips are pushed out slightly, puffy and swollen from biting and too hot tea. Axl can smell the mint on Izzy’s breath even with his mouth closed.

 

Izzy doesn’t shift as Axl comes the slightest bit closer.

However, he is surprised when the redhead tugs the door from his grasp and shuts it himself.

The ravanette’s narrow shoulders are pushed back against the door before he can really think straight. Izzy’s lithe body is pressed firmly between the paint chipped wood and Axl’s solid frame. He’s can't summon the words up from his dry throat.

Luckily, he doesn’t seem to need them.

Axl’s mouth is on his before he can breathe.

 

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

 


End file.
